This is not the luxurious Recovery Ward of a battlestar or Caprican hospital. Beds are simple white cots with thin mattresses on them, the sheets looking well-used and thin. Each bed is also organized into a bunk system where there are two recovery beds between the floor and ceiling, a simple metal stepladder going to the one above. Stainless steel rungs hang from the ceiling to hold IV bottles in place as well. All told, the small room can hold a not-inconsiderable number of recovering patients due to the bunks.

Jupiter is propped up in a bed with some pillows. She doesn't have any visible bandages, but her right arm os pretty bruised up and down it. The rest of her is covered by a hospital gown, and some sweatpants, hiding a hella lotta other bruises. Her curly dark hair is a mess, but that's okay. She has a little tray pulled over, and is shuffling and playing with a deck of Triad cards.

Roubani is still lying in bed, fancy that. His right arm is forcibly immobile from shoulder to fingertips, resting on a brace attached the bed. Bandages are visible on his deck where the hospital gown doesn't cover, and where there are no bandages, there are bruises and swelling. He's been awake for a little while, listening to beeping. Beep. Beep. One thousand three hundred fifteen. One thousand three hundred sixteen. Eventually the drugs make him lose count and it starts again. One. Two.

"Stupid check ups…" The sound of a voice grumbling can be heard as Ashe walks into the Recovery Ward, looking for a medical person to look over his right arm that has leaky gauze yet again, seeping red. However the search is quickly interrupted seeing the people present. About to say something sympathetic those eyes of his fall on a certain individual and grin cracks his lips. "Well well well, looky what we have here."

Jupiter barely looks up from her card tricks before she says, "Blow it out your ass, Sally." It's like love times five radiating off of the pilot. No, wait, that's just the glow of her bedside light. "Got any smokes?"

Seventeen. Eighteen. Roubani's eyes shift towards the sound of new voices, blearily. Then upwards. Tubes, something metallic. Fun to play with, no doubt, if he could reach it. Thwarted.

Ashe stares steadily at Jupiter and smiles as he actually reaches towards one of his shirt pockets and pulls out a rather delicious, fat, cigar. "Smokes? No, I only have the good stuff. But sorry… this is for real soldiers only." He shakes his head making a tsking noise while slipping the cigar away. Oh but then he leans over to look a bit more at the woman. "What's wrong, did you get yourself a widdle bo bo?" the question being asked as mockingly as possible. Turning with a shake of his head he notices the other pilot and frowns a bit with concern. "That's unfortunate."

"Listen, Esther, I will come out of this bed and kick your ass without even breaking a sweat." Jupiter's eyes are on Ashe. They seem to be having a particularly friendly conversation. Jupes hasn't yet noticed Roubani's awake, so Ashe is the chewtoi of the moment.

Roubani's presence has always been the quiet one. Being in hospital apparently doesn't change that one bit. How much of Jupiter's conversation he's processing is questionable, and it may very well be for the best. His eyes just watch the metal rail of his gurney-bed-thing.

"What is that your thing? Giving men girl names thinking it's some kind of insult? Man that sounds like a really bad sitcom or something." Ashe responds shaking his head. "And you couldn't kick your own ass princess. Stick with getting your nails done and those little pedicures."

That's about all it takes for Jupiter to throw off the sheet and light blanket, slide out of her bed, flip off a lead, and stalk across the recovery ward toward the marine. Her bare feet slap the floor with each step. Nevermind that her toenails have recently been painted robin's egg blue. It was probably the princess thing. Maybe the pedicure thing. Heck, maybe it's just because she can.

Fenix saw to the ships first. Leaving the pilots to mill and panic over their wounded comrades, crowding the sickbay with just the sort of company the Chief tends to avoid. So why's she here now? The woman's arrival is a quiet one. She's dressed for off-duty, but her hair's still pinned back, and a few smudges of grease along her left arm betray just how well she's been staying off the deck. But with the repairs underway — her presence only flustering the already-panicked crew — Fenix has strayed dangerously close to the impromptu Pilot Pit. Stepping just inside the far door, and hovering there for a moment as dark eyes sweep the various beds. Recognizing most of the faces, but making no move to approach until she's come across a certain one. Roubani? Not a likely candidate, considering the four words she's actually shared with the man… but she's making her way toward the bed without hesitation. Reaching the bedrail, and after a glance toward his quietly opened eyes, lowering herself into a crouch. Putting herself on eye-level with the man, her forehead pressed to the metal rail, and her voice little more than a whisper. "You frakked my ship, pilot." Oddly, the words don't sound angry. If anything, her tone is almost apologetic. As for the little brawl that's about to break out? It earns a cursory glance from the Chief, a 'brow arching with bemusement, but she's making no move to intervene.

Hey, movement. Roubani's eyes flicker to the source of it, swiftly moving as it is on a collision course with Ashe. And then Fenix's face is suddenly in front of him and all that's forgotten. It takes a second to focus on the woman, his eyes working like a particularly slow camera lens. Frakked. Ship. Ship, what? Oh, crap. His voice is scratchy and low as he murmurs, "Is it ruined?"

Ashe looks right at Jupiter as she stalks to him, looks her up and down and then does the amazing. He laughs. "What are you going to do, wail away on my shins? Go back to your bed pilot, before someone has to put you in there for good, and not in that happy way your kind like to flaunt."

"Pretty damn close," Fenix responds, 'brows knitting slightly. Then, one corner of her mouth pulling slightly upward — a teasing sort of smirk, she offers, "Would be, if I weren't a frakking genius." Then, still crouched beside the pilot's gurney, she's dropping one hand to dig through a pocket on her fatigues. Fishing out something small, glinting like metal, and then reacing through the gurney's bars to press it into Roubani's left palm. Closing the man's fingers around the tiny object, and going so far as to even squeeze slightly. "You look worse than the ship, boy. Take care of yourself." And then she's finally turning her attention toward the budding brawl. Pushing to her feet, and turning enough to stare — mouth opening slightly, 'brows raised — as Ashe hands over his ass. "… th' frak?"

That, well. That was the wrong thing to say to Jupiter Black. The Lieutenant takes the final few steps, closing the distance between them, and she doesn't even slow down. Apparently her injuries are not that serious, because what follows is a one-two combination of a knee to the gut. She grabs the marine's shoulders as he's still laughing, introduces his naval to her kneecap, and then sweeps an elbow to the side of his head. It's a quick, painful combination. She doesn't even mock Ashe before she clocks him.

"I'm glad you're a genius, too," Roubani says, heavy drugs making this a very grave statement indeed. His hand twitches when she touches it, squeezing the metal. Ooh toy. Watch out when he actualy figures out what it is. He drowsily glances at the fight and smiles blearily. "She likes bait."

The Sickbay erupts as Ashe goes tumbling from the knee to the gut and then the striek to his head, falling over backwards and tumbling over a bed. Once he lands there's a slight cursing and the Marine drags himself up, blood seeping everywhere from his wounds, the real injuries as he wipes his hand across the back of his lip. "That all you got little girl?" He asks with slightly slurred words.

Jupiter likes it when they call her little girl. Maybe she has a Daddy complex. You can tell by the way she follows up with a kick to Ashe's head once she's already put him on the ground. "Say it again, asshole." The bruises all up her right side protest, and she keeps her feet. Ashe isn't really fighting back, but something he did or said tweaked the pilot but good.

"Woah, woah!" Fenix is snapping as blows begin to land on… heads. Or head, as it were. "Lieutenant! Back the frak down!" It's directed toward Jupiter. Not because the Chief actually /agrees/ with Ashe… but because the marine may not survive, should things grow any more weighted against him. As for actual physicial involvement? She's still hovering near Roubani's gurney, eyes narrowed and jaw tightening. Ready to approach, should it become necessary.

Kick, right to the face sends Ashe flying back against a counter, knocking over some vial like things sending glass splattering. His hand plants in the glass as he pushes up, slicing it and blood seeping everywhere. The man doesn't stay down, then again he probably doesn' tknow how to stay down. Wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, he spits a bit, tonguing a now loose tooth and shakes his head. "Say what, little girl? Little girl? What's wrong, daddy spank you too much when you stole candy?" There's not even a single taunting in his tone, rather a sort of straight forward lecture. "Don't know what you're looking for, little girl, but I don't hit little girls." The Marine's right arm is now just a blood streaked mess once again and there is several moist spots all over his dark sweats.

Ever gotten really high and flipped to some bizarre movie on late-night TV? That's about how Roubani feels, minus the munchies. The morpha's actually a little nauseating. But this all distracts him well enough. It takes quite a while for his brain to catch up completely to what's actually happening, and to the sudden smell of fresh blood and the noise, and when it does he finally makes a long, scratchy sound. "Stop…/stop/."

Jupes must not be feeling like a full on knock down drag out, because after the second, no that was the third, shot, she just stops. It happens just after Fenix's yell. Is she listening to the PO? Might be, might be. "You." She gives her head a toss, "Are so much stupider than you look." The tone suggests that's really saying something. "I'm stopping." The words are clipped. After she says it, there's a moment where her body language is all kinda of hostile, but she takes a breath, and lets it out. Then she stalks toward the nurse's station, passing a mobilized bevvy of nurses coming to see what the frak is going on.

"Stupid? Hell, maybe. Least I know who I'm fightin' ain't on this ship, Princess." Ashe speaks out towards Jupiter as she backs away, spitting some blood out of his mouth. "Going to leave it like that?" Ashe stands up straighter then, eyes very level as he points. "Go on, there's a security cabinet right there, grab a piece, show everyone here how tough you really are princess. Either put up or shut up because in the end, it's about the lives you take, not the little hissy fits you throw. So do it." The Marine takes a step forward, ignoring the nursing staff. "Your hands are clean Princess, so if you want to act tough, why don't you really become tough. What's one little Marine right? Go on, you're the tough shit, time to show it. Or you going to coward out like everyone would expect you too. Afterall, you got enough energy to attack the people who keep this ship safe, so you might as well do the job for the Cylons for them right? Go on, grab the piece from the cabinet, come back, then we can talk."

Black eyes are growing wide as the marine continues to bait Jupiter, Fenix's involvement shifting almost visibly as the words fall. Enough so that the woman's starting forward — pushing off that gurney — and oddly, it's not toward Jupiter. But fortunate for all of them, the pilot's speaking before Fenix dooms herself. I'm stopping. She's… stopping? A sharp glance upward — seeming to break the Chief out of whatever temper Ashe triggered — and then a hissed breath toward the Marine. "Get the frak out, LC. /Now/." Glancing back to Jupiter then, and whether she knows the woman or not, offering a sharp shake of her head. "Not worth it."

Jupiter hisses at the nearest doctor. "Doctor on first shift said I would exit this evening if I didn't experience any more nausea. I haven't. I'm leaving." She points back at Ashe. "That frakker needs a psyche eval, sutures, and probably a dentist." She doesn't even pause before she heads for the hatch. If the Doc takes issue, he can send a security team to drag her back. "Psych eval first." The unspoken part is 'before I kill him myself'. But that would require her being in the room longer than is safe for her or Ashe.

Ashe looks at Fenix and rolls his eyes, "Yeah? Frak you too honestly." He lifts up his shirt, revealing all those lovely bullet holes he has in him. "She jumps out of /her/ frakking bed and attacks me, breaks open bullet wounds I took defending /This/ ship from the Cylons that her lousy frakin' ass couldn't stop from boarding. I don't raise a hand, she frakin' unloads on me, and it's my frakin' fault? You know what, you Navy folks need to frakin' wake up someday real soon and realize that we're doing a lot of dying to keep us all safe and when you run out of Marines, it's going to be you frakers that have to hold off the Centurions. Fraki'n fleet is all the same." Turning, Ashe just starts to walk, presumably to the Marine berthings intending to push past anyone who tries to stop him, regardless of the bleeding wounds.

There's nothing Roubani can really do to move. His head can barely even turn, for how securely he's in casts and braces. Nor can he speak very loudly. The whole thing is highly irritating, somewhere under the morpha fog. "Maniac…"

Fenix shouldn't have gotten involved. Whatever was happening between the two, it started long before this little foray in the sickbay. But walking away from one person kicking another in the head? The officer types frown on that sort of thing. "Already been done, asshole," is hissed back to the marine, though she makes no move to approach. "I don't know /what/ the frak is goin' on between you two, but as I saw it, you were begging for it. You want people to keep their hands to themselves? Keep your frakking mouth closed. Marines ain't the only ones losing men, and like it or not, no /pilot/ can stand between us and th' cylons. No matter how good. You signed up for this jus' like everybody else, so stop your bitching and take a look around you." A pointed glance is swept toward the bedridden Roubani — a pilot — who's currently in worse shape than any of the marines. And then the Chief is simply… backing off. Flickering a last glance toward the bedridden Roubani, and then making toward one of the less crowded exits. Leaving Ashe to deal with the no-doubt swarming medical sorts.

Ashe shakes his head and takes about two steps before stumbling, and falling over like a solid, heavy rock right onto the deckplating. Passed out cold from either the blood or more likely, hitting his head after slipping on the blood. At any rate, at least he'll be very cooperative for the re-stitching.